


Storage Duty

by Seeker_Obsessed



Series: A Second Chance [3]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bayformers AU, Dubcon if you squint, F/M, Femdom, Femme with spike, Femme-dom, Other, hint of Ratchet/Ironhide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeker_Obsessed/pseuds/Seeker_Obsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ironhide’s on temporary leave and Chromia’s set on making the most of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fans always say mechs and femmes have the same "equipment" but you never actually see it used in fics, so here you go!  
> *Possible spoilers for my main fic*

 “Whadda yah mean ‘temporary leave’?”

Ratchet put his servos on his hips and glared at the weapons specialist, “what part don’t you understand?”

Ironhide crossed his arms and glared back at the medic with just as much resolve, “the part where I’m s’pose ta sit back like a rusty ol’ mech and let the youngsters see all th’ action,” he growled.

Sensing the glaring would go nowhere, Ratchet decided to be the bigger mech and turned to put his tools. “I don’t know how to break it to you but you are an ‘old mech’, though I wouldn’t call you rusty,” he stated with a smirk over his shoulder, events of the previous night still fresh in his memory files. “Your hip joint snapped clear in half,” he said changing the subject before it went anywhere, “I’ve managed to replace it but it’s is going to need time to heal. That means no strenuous activities and absolutely no transforming. Who knows the damage that could cause…”

“then how in th’ Pit am I suppose ta watch Will’s family?” Ironhide asked. A giant metal alien sitting in one’s driveway wasn’t exactly the definition of covert.

“You won’t.” Ratchet stated, “I’ll have someone else assigned to them for the duration of your absence.”

Ironhide grumbled something incoherent.

“What was that?” Ratchet snapped, turning back around.

Ironhide bit back a retort, “nothin’.”

Ratchet crossed his arms, “that’s what I thought,” there was no real anger behind his words, “really Ironhide, it’ll only be for a few weeks.”

Ironhide let his arms drop and sighed. The thought of leaving the Lennoxs in someone else’s care wasn’t an appealing thought. Another bot wouldn’t know to drive down the road a number of times to get Annabelle to fall into recharge, or to remind Sara that she left ‘clothes’ in the ‘dryer’, or that Will had a habit of recharging through his alarm while off base and needed a more direct approach to be woken up. “So what am I suppose ta’ do with myself?” he asked.

“Ideally, nothing,” Ratchet said, leaning against the counter, “but I know you, and that isn’t in your programming.”

The TopKick smirked.

Ratchet sighed as he came to a conclusion, “I’ll have you put on storage duty. The work shouldn’t be _too_ difficult for you.”

Ironhide made a face, “storage duty?”

‘Storage’, as it were, was what the Autobots had christened all the junk their human allies donated to them. Some of it was trinkets of friendship, but most were old machine parts that the humans thought would be _useful_.

“Well it’s better than nothing,” Ratchet argued.

~~~

Ironhide’s arms gave out and the crate dropped, crashing down on his pede and spilling about the floor. “Fragging pile of junk!” he spat nursing his wounded limb.

“Oh poor sparkling.”

Ironhide looked up and locked optics on Chromia leaning in the doorway.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than mock me?” he asked kneeling slowly to pick up the mess.

“I thought you could use some help,” she admitted as she walked over and picked up what was left of the container. She set the pieces on a nearby crate. “Or a distraction…” she added, stepping into his personal space as he stood up. She arched her pedes and leaned in to better meet his gaze.

 “W-wha…” Ironhide dropped the scrap metal in his arms and withdrew a bit. He bumped against a crate and fell back, landing on it. He made to stand when Chromia’s servo appeared on his chest.

“Easy there Sharp-Shooter,” she said, pushing him back down, “I’m not finished with you.” she eased herself on to the crate with the gracefulness only a femme could muster, and straddled his hips.

Ironhide stared up at her incredulously. “Uh...” the words died in his mouth as Chromia began trailing her digits down his chassis, her tiny digits working their way into seams.

“What was that?” she teased, toying with a seam she had long learned to be a sensitive spot.

“Prahmus, that feels amazin’!” he said, venting an intake he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He reached up and ran a servo down her chest and abdomen, resting it on her hip.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” she placed his servo back at his side, “no touching.”

Ironhide let out a growl, as his spike began to pressurize inside its housing.

She leaned in and lapped at the sensitive seam. Her engine rumbled in a way the humans often referred to as ‘purring’. Upon learning of the indigenous felines, the Cybertronians had grudgingly agreed to the similarity.

Ironhide tilted his helm back and shuttered his optics, moaning at the feel of her glossa as she eased her way down his chassis. She paused just short of his pelvic plating.

“Open?” she asked, tracing the lining of his covering with the tip of her digit.

Ironhide didn’t hesitate and quickly retracted his panels, releasing his spike.

Chromia’s optics brightened at the sight of his exposed valve. Her servo closed around his spike and stroked, paying close attention to the biolights, frivolously teasing them.

“Prahmus...” Ironhide vented, fumbling to grip onto whatever surface he could.

“You like that?” she asked, tracing circles on the tip with her thumb.

Ironhide nodded, his cooling fans kicking on.

“Good,” she tightened her grip and pumped faster.

Ironhide found himself bucking slightly into the tight grip, the weight of his partner on his lap almost nonexistent.

Chromia gripped his leg, with her free servo, to regain her balance.

At the rate things were going, Ironhide knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Through sheer will power, he slowed his grinding to a stop and reached out to still her servo. “Ya might wanna hold up if ya have other plans, Glitch Mouse,” he said, his armor plating flaring slightly in embarrassment. Primus he hated being old.

Chromia smiled at the use of his nickname for her. She leaned in, “oh I have plans,” she said before abruptly climbing off his lap.

Ironhide watched curiously as the blue femme resituated in front of his legs. She ran her servos up the outer part of his thighs and rested them on his hips. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just lie back and enjoy,” she said as she gripped his hips and pulled them to the edge of the crate. A feat that would not be easy for most femmes, given his much larger size.

Suddenly realizing where she was taking things, Ironhide let out a low warning growl.

“Behave,” she ordered, tilting him on his side and quickly cuffing his wrists together with stasis cuffs she pulled out of subspace.

“Where did you get those?” ‘Hide asked incredulously as he fell back into his previous position, his back arching over his arms.

“Ratchet let me borrow them,” she stated, admiring her work. She then knelt between his legs, “spread ‘em.”

Ironhide merely grunted, determined to make things as difficult as possible for her. He’d been swindled into this and she was going to have to work for it.

“Don’t make me tie your legs up too,” she warned forcing his legs apart. Without warning, she pushed a digit past the rim of his valve, giving a satisfactory purr when Ironhide’s intake hitched. She gave a few leisurely thrusts, feeling the lubricant start to build. She pushed another digit in, carefully stretching the rarely used port. She eased a third digit in, feeling the walls begin to loosen as lubricant leaked onto her servo. When she was satisfied, she pulled out.

Ironhide fought the urge to protest from the loss of stimulation.

“I think you’re ready,” she said decidedly, licking the fluid off her digits, her cooling fans kicking on.

Ironhide revved hungrily at the sight. Even after all this time, he still couldn’t wrap his processor around the fact that such a young, beautiful, bot found him the least bit attractive.

Chromia rose, twisting his hips to pin his bad thigh between hers, and lifted his other leg up over her shoulder. She had a stunning view, weapons specialist completely at her mercy, valve sopping. “Have I ever told you how much I love you in this position?” she asked.

“I can think of a few positions I’d prefer,” he deadpanned.

“Oh I know,” she playfully condescended, “but we can’t risk it with your injury, now can we?”

“You act like I’ve got one pede in the Well,” he scoffed.

Chromia’s only response was a chuckle as she ordered her panel to retract, her spike pressurizing immediately. It’d been far too long since she’d had him this way and she was more than ready. She lined herself up and slowly pushed in, gasping as sheer warmth enveloped her arousal.

Ironhide grunted at the intrusion. He was hardly a sealed mech but the lack of regular use made even an average femme’s spike seem large.

She pulled out just as slowly as she had entered, rubbing against every sensory node she could, then slammed in a little harder, smirking at the mix of pain and pleasure on Ironhide’s face. Satisfied with the punishment, she continued with short thrusts, keeping a steady rhythm for her partner to adjust.

“Is that the best you got?” Ironhide goaded, wincing slightly, “I’ve met drones with more take-charge than you.”

Chromia’s engines revved in mild annoyance and she dropped his leg from her shoulder. She leaned forward, planting her arms on either side of him and began thrusting at a much faster and harder pace. “This better?” she asked slamming into him with new fervor.

Ironhide hissed in pain, “spawn of Unicron!” he growled.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Chromia said, pounding hard, each thrust bringing her ever closer to overload.

Ironhide found himself panting, his cooling fans quickly becoming inadequate on their own as each thrust radiated through him. He worked frantically at the stasis cuffs. If they were the pair he thought they were, then breaking out wouldn’t be too difficult. Ratchet had a fritzed pair he liked to use on occasion. Chromia slammed against a node cluster and Ironhide cried out. Dang she was good. He found the loose panel on one of the cuffs and pried it open enough to fit a couple of his digits. He rifled through the wires until he found the one he was searching for then gave it a slight tug. There was a triumphant- _click_ -and the grip of the cuffs slackened.

Chromia shuttered her optics and rolled her helm back as she felt her overload approaching. “’Hide…” she moaned, “I’m gonna…” the room spun and Chromia was front down on the crate, arms pinned behind her back, her overload quickly retreating. “hey!” she snarled.

Ironhide leaned in near her audio receptor, “my turn.”

Chromia jerked in his grip, “you’re not playing fair,” she pouted.

Ironhide yanked her onto her knees and bent her forward, “I believe there’s an Earth sayin’, Sweet Spark, ‘alls fair in love and war’.” He swiped his first and middle digits over her valve, already slick with arousal. “My, my, my,” he said, “I think you’re already ready for me.”

“Don’t you dare!” she growled.

“Or what?” Ironhide retorted. He could feel his own lubricant, leaking down his thighs. One thing was certain, he’d definitely have to have her mount him again, there was nothing quite like it. But not this time, now he had a point to prove. Without warning, he pushed in, hilting himself in one quick move.

Chromia’s chassis tensed, a hiss escaped through bared denta as the lining of her valve stretched to near max capacity far too quickly. “You glitched piece of sl—”

Ironhide pulled out and snapped his hips forward causing Chromia to yelp. “What was that, Sweet Spark?” he ground against her, driving himself home in short, hard thrusts.

Chromia groaned, her chassis plating rattling with each collision.

Ironhide slowed to a calmer pace at the first sign of actual pain. The last thing he wanted to do was actually hurt her. He reached around and took hold of her spike, squeezing and stroking it the way he knew she liked it. He leaned foreword and nipped at a few vulnerable neck wires.

Chromia squirmed under the assault and resituated, as much as Ironhide’s hold on her would allow, to a more comfortable stance. she bit back a whimper as Ironhide thrust past the sensors in her valve. Oh Primus, she loved when he took control! Sure, she loved being on top, but nothing compared to Ironhide dominating.

Ironhide removed his servo from her spike and slowed even more, giving long deliberate thrusts, enjoying the sight of his spike sliding in and out of her.

Chromia keened in frustration.

“Tell me what you want,” Ironhide ordered, slowing down a fraction more.

Chromia bit back a whine, “I…”

Ironhide jerked to a stop, “yes?”

Chromia tried in vain to push back onto the invading member, “I want…you to shut up and frag me harder!” she pleaded.

A grin spread across Ironhide’s faceplate. That’s what he liked to hear. “Yes ma’am,” he started thrusting again, his pace more frantic. He released her arms to grab hold of her hips, lightly denting the blue metal as he pulled her back to meet strong thrusts.

Chromia arched her back and crooned each time Ironhide’s spike sank into her aching valve. She could tell Ironhide was close to overloading, as the mech grunted freely, abandoning all caution.

“Come on Sweet Spark, overload for me,” Ironhide begged. He pulled her onto his spike hard, growling as his overload slammed through him, filling the tight port with tranfluid.

Chromia cried out as her overload followed, her valve clenching around Ironhide’s spike, her own transfluid releasing on to the surface below her.

Both, lost in bliss, were unaware of the— _creaking_ —under their chassis.

Ironhide leaned in and nuzzled the back of her helm, “that was amazing,” he said panting.

“Your hip…okay?” Chromia asked as she slowly came to.

“Never better,” he said, stroking her waist and thigh.

There was a loud whine as their make shift berth gave out and they came crashing down, the contents of the crate scattered everywhere.

Ironhide burst into laughter as he shook the dazed fog from his processor.

“Get off!” Chromia panicked, weight-capacity warning signals plastering her HUD. She pushed against him frantically but found no purchase.

Ironhide flopped over on his back and groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Chromia asked, the warning signals steadily disengaging.

Ironhide said nothing.

Chromia fought back a snicker, “you hurt your hip, didn’t you?”

Ironhide nodded tentatively.

Chromia burst into laughter. She flipped over on her back and curled up next to him.

They laid in silence for a while, letting their post overload wear off.

Ironhide glanced at the femme, “Ratchet ain’t gonna be happy with us,” he said.

“He isn’t going to be happy with _you_ ,” she clarified, giving him a playful kick.

Ironhide winced and nodded in resignation, “how long do ya think I can lie here till he comes looking for me.”

TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. Doctor's Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide face's the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Possible spoilers for my main fic*

Ratchet stared at his two patients, waiting for one of them to speak up, “well?”

“It’s not my fault,” Chromia insisted. She jabbed her digit toward the mech on the other med berth, “Ironhide abused me. All I wanted to do was show him a good time and now I’m not going to be able to walk right for a deca-cycle!”

Ironhide snorted, “aft-kisser.” That earned him a glare from both bonded.

Ratchet sighed, “what am I going to do with you two?”

He went back over to the counter and continued organizing supplies as he had been doing before he was unceremoniously interrupted. He was just fine with letting them wait. They deserved it.

Chromia shifted her legs wider, “Ratchet, I think Ironhide really hurt me.”

Ratchet turned to look at her. Her words sounded serious but there was mischievousness plastered all over her figure.

“Do you think you could check it out?” she asked meekly.

“Did he now?” Ratchet said playing along. The likelihood of Ironhide having seriously hurt her was slim, femmes’ interface equipment, specifically the valve, were built to withstand their often much larger brethren. An ability Ratchet wished some smaller mechs had. He pulled a stool up to the end of her berth and tapped on the edge before sitting down, “get over here and let's have a look.”

Chromia crept over and sat on the edge, her legs dangling on either side of the medic.

Ratchet dug out a container from a storage unit in the base of the berth and coated his fore and middle digit in the gel. “Open,” he ordered professionally.

Chromia snapped open her panel and leaned back on her elbows.

Ratchet slowly put his digits up against her valve. “Here?” he asked, gently rubbing the rim.

Chromia shook her helm, “no, deeper,” she said spreading her legs a bit more.

Ratchet slipped his digits in and toyed with the area just inside, “here?”

Chromia bit her lower lip plate and shook her helm.

Ratchet arched a brow and delved in further. “How about...here?” he ran his digits over a known cluster of nodes.

Chromia arched her back. “Yes!” she nearly cried, her whole body trembling.

“Where?” Ratchet asked running his digits over the spot a few more times.

Choking on a moan Chromia cried out, “there!”

Ratchet shook his helm and removed his digits. “I’m going to have to take a closer look,” he said taking out a rag and cleaning his servo of fluids. He quickly glanced at Ironhide and was not disappointed. The mech was staring, wide-opticed, with his mouth open. He stood and pushed the stool away before kneeling between the femme's legs.

 He put his faceplate close to her interface panel. “Let’s have a look,” he said lightly spreading her with both servos. He tilted his helm as he examined. The room grew uncomfortably silent when he finally said, “well there's only one cure for that.” without warning he stuck his glossa out and ran it across her valve.

“Ratchet!” Chromia laughed as her face plating heated at the audacious act of the medic. She’d expected him to play along with the digits, but to actually—Ratchet slipped his glossa in and her elbows gave out. She hit the berth with a moan, “Ratchet...”

Ratchet continued his assault on her, dipping in and tasting her lubricants.

Ironhide, having had enough of simply watching, let out a feral growl and made to get off the berth.

“Sit back down,” Ratchet order not even bothering to look at the mech, “I haven't cleared you yet.”

“Doc, come on!” Ironhide begged.

“Consider this your punishment for disobeying my instructions. Lay there and be still,” he said taking a moment to rub the femme's inner thighs, listening to the soft purr of her cooling fans.

“Can I at least—”

“No.”

Ironhide let out a defeated huff and settled back down.

“I don’t recall agreeing to this,” Chromia remarked stroking Ratchet’s helm affectionately.

Ratchet chuckled softly and ran his olfactory sensor along Chromia's inner thigh seam before going back to exploring her. He ran his glossa along the rim, tasting every inch before delving back into the tight sweetness.

Chromia was panting and gasping, doing everything she could not to grind against the medic's lip components. She let her spike pressurize and took hold of it, pumping feverously.

“That’s highly inappropriate during a medical exam,” Ratchet chastised, shooing her servo away.

“Ratchet...” the femme whined.

Ratchet ignored her. He dug his digits between her inner thigh plating and used the manual switch to de-pressurize her spike. He then proceeded to lap at the housed tip.

Chromia cried out, latching onto his helm with both servos.

Ratchet pulled her legs onto his shoulders. Off to the side he could hear Ironhide's cooling fans kick on. He continued circling and lapping at the exposed nerve. He brought a servo up and traced around her valve, coating it with lubricant, before carefully sliding a couple digits in.

Chromia was a hot mess. She ground against Ratchet's mouth moaning, she didn't care anymore, she was going to burst.

Ratchet stuck another digit in and thrust. Oh, she was tight, even after her recent romp with Ironhide. He swirled his glossa and squeezed in another digit.

That was it.

Chromia arched her back and cried out, her calipers clamping around the medic's digits, “Ratchet!” she slumped back and her legs slid down ratchet's arms.

Ratchet carefully removed his digits and wiped them off with the rag before setting her legs back down on the edge of the berth and manually closing her panel. “That seems to have fixed the problem,” he said as he stood and deposited the rag in a bin.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Chromia agreed groggily. She stroked his hip as he passed, “but what about you...Doctor?”

Ratchet chuckled and patted the side of her helm, “a medic acquires his own gratification through that of his patient's.”

Chromia gave him a funny look as he moved over to Ironhide’s berth.

“Now that that's taken care of,” he said, “let's take a look at the hip.”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> I have no planned next chapter but I'm leaving it open just in case.  
> Also, if you're following this story or any of my others, you can be kept up to date and ask about them [HERE](http://seeker-obsessed.tumblr.com/tagged/Seeker%27s-Fanfic-Status/)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Comments and Criticism are appreciated.


End file.
